Tender Savage

by Iris Johansen

  “Actually, we were considering releasing her before I realized how valuable she could be. She was sent here to the Abbey until a decision could be made.” A smile lit his round, boyish face. “She’s only a secretary and her passport lists no next of kin. No one knows she’s been arrested. She offers us little diplomatic risk.”

  “Why run any risk at all?”

  Jurado ignored the question. “She’s entirely at your disposal, of course. Anything you wish to do to or with her is up to you. I’m afraid you’ll have to speak English with her to make your needs known. She understands very little Spanish.” He trailed off as his gaze locked with Ricardo’s. “She’s a virgin. Isn’t that remarkable in this day and age? Our physicians were quite startled during the examination they gave her when she was admitted to the Abbey this morning. Startled and stimulated. A man always likes to be first, and I had trouble keeping them off her. But one of my officers suggested she might be of value to us with you, and I knew at once that he was right.”

  “No, he was wrong.”

  Jurado shook his head. “You like Americans and you have the true soul of a knight. Obviously, such a man would be attracted to a helpless virgin. Why won’t you look at her? She’s a lovely little thing. Fine bones, pretty breasts, and that skin …” He sighed. “I truly envy you, Lázaro. Can’t you see she’s trembling with eagerness for the pleasure you can give her?”

  Ricardo tried to keep his gaze from wandering toward the woman. “If she’s trembling, it’s from fear, and I’ve never found terror in a woman an aphrodisiac. Get her out of here.”

  “Oh, no. She stays here with you,” Jurado said. “She’ll share your meals, your conversation, and your cot. I’ve always found propinquity to be a powerful spur.” His gaze moved to Ricardo’s lower body. “Particularly to a man in your state. I see the little one arouses you.”

  The bastard. Ricardo felt a jolt of welcome anger that temporarily submerged the lust pounding through him. “So did your whores. It’s a natural response.” He smiled crookedly. “But I’ve learned to control my body. I have no intention of letting you gain a weapon to use on me. You might as well give up now, Jurado.”

  Jurado turned and moved toward the door. “We shall see. I’ll give you time to change your mind.” He paused to look back over his shoulder. “But I admit I’m a little impatient. If you don’t follow your natural inclinations within a reasonable length of time, I’ll take her from you and give her to the guards to enjoy.” He smiled as he saw the flicker of anger on Ricardo’s face. “You see, I do understand you, Lázaro. You have the misfortune of being an idealist, a protector of the weak and the innocent. Well, I give you an innocent to protect and enjoy at one and the same time. What more could you ask?” His gaze shifted to Lara. “A gang rape isn’t pleasant, my dear. You’d better make yourself very appealing to our great liberator.” He slammed the door behind him and an instant later Ricardo heard the guard turn the key in the lock.

  Ricardo turned back to the window and stared blindly out at the courtyard. Lord, he didn’t need this. His hands reached out and again grasped the bars at the window, the muscles of his upper arms distending as his grip tightened. He wanted to break something. He felt helpless and frustrated and as hot as a beardless adolescent in the first throes of passion.

  He slowly forced his hands to relax on the bars. Nothing could be done about the situation and it would do no good to frighten the woman by a show of violence. She had probably gone through enough already at Jurado’s hands.

  “It’s all right,” he said. “I won’t hurt you.” He gazed at Jurado strolling across the courtyard toward his office and thought how pleasant a sight it would be to see that small, dapper figure ignited by a flamethrower. “And evidently the junta’s pride and joy is giving you a reprieve from whatever he’d planned for you.”

  “I notice you’re not saying I won’t have to worry after the reprieve.”

  Her voice was low and faintly tremulous, and its femininity stroked and aroused him as much as that first sight of her. He felt the muscles of his stomach clench and then knot painfully. It was only sex, he told himself. Sex had nothing to do with his mind or emotions. A man of will and intelligence could subdue even that most powerful and primitive of urges. “I don’t believe in lying. Jurado will do what he likes with you. He’s commandant of the Abbey and uses gang rape frequently as an interrogation tool.” He kept his tone deliberately matter-of-fact. “I can’t stop him from hurting you, but I can show you ways to make the pain less. We have a little time and you can learn enough to—”

  “Is that a microphone?”

  He turned and followed her glance to the small black metal object mounted high on a shelf in the corner of the room.

  “Yes, the Abbey isn’t sophisticated enough for video surveillance, but Jurado likes to make me feel the lack of privacy.” He raised his voice. “Don’t you, Jurado?”

  “It’s terrible.” Her voice was shrill. “Everything here is hideous. How can they do this to me? I’m frightened and angry. I’m no whore to be—” She broke off. “And now you tell me they can hear us while we—” Her voice rose hysterically. “Well, I won’t have it. I won’t!” She ran across the room to the washbasin and grabbed the water pitcher. She slung it at the microphone, knocking the device from its shelf and splattering both it and the white stucco wall with water. The smashed microphone crackled and hissed as it dangled on its long cord.

  “That won’t do any good,” Ricardo said gently. “They’ll just replace it.”

  “Is that the only bug?”

  “Yes, it’s not really a security device. Jurado only installed it to annoy me.” “Tape recorders?”

  “No.”

  “How long do we have?” Her voice was breathless, but no longer hysterical.

  He slowly stiffened, his gaze narrowing on her face. “Jurado should be here in five minutes. Perhaps less.”

  “The guards in the cell block?”

  “They’ll wait for Jurado unless there’s a threat of escape. They know he likes to run the show.” She flew across the room toward him and spoke quickly in a whisper. “Paco Renalto.”

  He repeated warily, “Paco?”

  “He sent me to tell you they’ll be attacking the Abbey day after tomorrow. He wants you to be ready.”

  “Ready? I’ve been ready for over five months.” Ricardo felt a leap of hope he quickly smothered. “You expect me to believe you? Jurado delivers you to my bed and suddenly I find you’re working for Paco?” He shook his head. “Not likely.”

  “You’ve got to believe me. We don’t have much time.” Lara moistened her lips with her tongue and whispered, “Renalto said to mention the caverns.”

  Ricardo’s hand automatically clapped across her lips. “Quiet!”

  Lara turned her head to avoid his hand. “I won’t say any more about it. I don’t even know what it means. Renalto just said to use it as a password.”

  Ricardo was thinking quickly. The Abbey had been breached before by frequent raids but not in the last few years. The grounds were now well guarded and enclosed by an electric wire fence, and even if the courtyard were reached, there were still problems. The Abbey was a one-story U-shaped building and the cells were all on the left side of the courtyard. He shook his head. “The cell block’s too well guarded for him to hit. There’s a machine gun mounted on the roof above Jurado’s office aimed at this side of the courtyard. How does he intend to—”

  “How do I know?” Lara’s lashes quickly lowered to veil her eyes. “He just sent me here to tell you to be ready.”

  “Who are you?”

  “That doesn’t matter. I’m here to help.” She laughed shakily. “Though at the moment I can’t think why. I never expected to playact as some kind of sacrificial virgin when I came to Saint Pierre. It’s not my style at all. I’ve always been very sensible and practical.” She tilted her head as she heard the sharp clatter of footsteps on the flagstones in the hall. “They’re coming. T
ell me, do they give you pencil and paper?”

  He shook his head. “And the only time we’ll be able to talk freely is when we’re taken to the showers. None of the guards or officers speak English except Jurado, but I never know when he’s listening.”

  “Showers? When is that? Never mind, there’s no time.” She dashed across the cell, threw herself on the cot, and turned her face to the wall, curling up in fetal position just as Jurado burst into the cell followed by two guards.

  Jurado’s cheeks were livid with fury as he looked down at Lara’s cringing form. “You disappoint me.” He strode to the cot, grabbed Lara’s arm, and jerked her to a sitting position on the cot. “No man likes an hysterical woman. Get hold of yourself.”

  “I don’t want to be here.” Lara whimpered. “I can’t stay with him. I don’t know what to do. Can’t I—”

  Jurado’s palm cracked against her cheek.

  She cried out as her head snapped back from the force of the blow.

  “That’s enough, Jurado.” Ricardo took an impulsive step forward, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. “Can’t you see she’s too frightened to know what she’s doing?”

  “Then she’ll have to learn.” Jurado took a step back from Lara, and the annoyance disappeared from his demeanor as he saw Ricardo’s expression. He nodded approvingly. “It goes well. Your protective instincts are already aroused and you’ve barely met the girl. What will you feel after you’ve taken her to bed?” He motioned to the microphone one of the guards was examining. “How long will it take to fix that?”

  “It will have to be replaced. I have to remove this one and then go to the storeroom and get another one.” The man shrugged. “Perhaps an hour.”

  “Then do it. I have an idea we may hear some very erotic sounds coming from this cell in the next few days.” Jurado glanced back at Ricardo. “And then I’ll have you, Lázaro.”

  Ricardo didn’t trust himself to speak. He should have remained silent when Jurado had struck her, but rage and possessiveness had risen like a red haze. Possessiveness? The thought sent a chill through him. “She means nothing to me,” he said without intonation. “Do what you wish with her.”

  “I will.” Jurado strode toward the door. “And with you, my fine rebel.”

  Lara forced herself to remain quiet until the guard disconnected the broken microphone and left the cell.

  “What’s this all about?” She sat on the cot, her hands folded in her lap, her gaze on the rigid line of Ricardo’s spine. He had turned his back to her again and she could sense he was trying to distance himself from her, as he had done when she had entered the cell. “Oh, Renalto told me the reason he thought Jurado would throw us together, but I don’t understand it. Why does Jurado want us to—” She stopped and then started again, “I mean, I would guess that the junta doesn’t permit prisoners—”

  “Sex?” He turned to face her and she found herself experiencing the same ripple of shock that had surged through her when she had first entered his cell. Ricardo Lázaro was different from what Lara had expected him to be. She had seen newspaper photos of him, but they had only depicted his classic good looks, the glossy dark hair with just a hint of curl, the glittering intensity of the ebony eyes. The pictures had failed to reveal the burning vitality, the air of controlled power he exuded. Ricardo’s hair flowed past his shoulders and his green army fatigues were faded, ragged, and hung loose on his six-foot frame. Yet the man stood arrow straight and the bearing of his slender, sinewy body was quietly indomitable. “Sex is only a tool for Jurado. He believes I’ll feel affection for a woman who shares my bed. He wants a weapon to use against me.”

  “How?”

  “Torture. Jurado didn’t succeed in getting the information he needs by torturing me, so he thinks to win the day by using someone else’s pain against me. It’s a common practice here to torture a man’s family before his eyes to make him break.” He smiled bitterly. “I wouldn’t follow his advice about making yourself appealing to me. It could prove very painful.”

  “More painful than being gang-raped?”

  “That would probably come first,” Ricardo said quietly. “With me forced to watch—if Jurado was convinced you meant something to me.”

  She shivered. “I feel like a piece of meat in a butcher shop.” Both the words and the shiver were genuine. What kind of world bred men like Jurado who used human beings as pawns? “I’m no side of beef and I’m no harem girl, and I hate being treated like either one. I’ll make damn sure you don’t find me attractive, even if I have to make a eunuch of you.”

  A slow smile lit his hard face with surprising sweetness. “That’s the spirit.” He grimaced ruefully. “Though I’d appreciate you not being so enthusiastic about ridding me of that particular body part.” He moved across the cell toward her. “Your cheek is bruised.” His palm moved caressingly on the soft marked flesh and she felt a sudden hot tingle explode through her body. “I’ve already caused you pain. I’m sorry, Lara.”

  Jurado had said Ricardo Lázaro was an earthy man, and now she could see that earthiness in his expression—the sensual heaviness of his lower lip, the flush that mantled his lean cheeks, the rapid drumming of the pulse in the hollow of his strong brown throat. She found herself unable to look away from that throbbing betrayal.

  Her voice sounded oddly breathless even to her own ears. “It … doesn’t hurt anymore.”

  “No?” His fingers lingered on her flesh, his gaze holding her own. The air in the cell seemed to become heavier and charged with electricity. She couldn’t breathe and she couldn’t look away. She felt as if she were waiting for a storm to break.

  “That’s good.” His hand dropped away from her cheek. “I wish I could say I could keep away any pain that might hurt you, but I can’t do that, Lara. I can’t betray—” He broke off and drew a deep breath. “If something goes wrong, I can’t let your pain matter to me.”

  “I know that.” At last she managed to tear her gaze away from him. “And I have no intention of allowing myself to be hurt by that greasy pig. Paco Renalto and the rest of your army may be fanatics, but I’ve absolutely no inclination toward martyrdom.”

  His gravity vanished and his lips twitched with suppressed humor. “Then may I suggest you’ve definitely involved yourself in the wrong situation? Why the devil are you here?”

  “I owed you a debt.” As he continued to stand there looking at her, she shrugged. “My brother is Brett Clavel. He was a sergeant in the platoon that—”

  “I know Brett,” he interrupted.

  “I wasn’t sure you’d remember him.” She looked away from him. “A lot of Americans flocked down here to fight for you.”

  “Not for me, for Saint Pierre,” he corrected softly. “And for the right to choose.”

  Her hands tightened on her lap. “No, for you,” she said fiercely. “You’re the Pied Piper. Do you think Brett would have left college and come down here to fight for Paco Renalto? Brett thinks you can walk on water. He could have been killed, dammit.”

  “You resent me,” he observed, his gaze searching her expression.

  “Brett is all I’ve ever had. I won’t have him killed or maimed because he’s dazzled by you. He doesn’t belong here.”

  “And neither do you.”

  “I had to come. You saved his life.”

  He smiled crookedly. “Yet you hold me responsible for endangering it in the first place.”

  “It was the only way to—” She stopped and drew a deep breath. “I suppose I really came because I want a promise from you.”

  “I’m afraid I’m not in a position to grant promises at present.”

  “You will be, when you’re free.” She gazed up at him. “When Brett comes back to Saint Pierre, I want you to promise to send him away.”

  He became still. “A man must make his own decisions.”

  “Not this one. What’s one more soldier to you?”

  “One more soldier is nothing. But one more man
is everything. I won’t interfere with your brother’s right to choose his own path.”

  “The right to choose.” She smiled bitterly. “I don’t care about your damn philosophy. I want my brother safe.”

  “I want all my brothers safe,” Ricardo said tiredly. “Safe in their homes, away from the sound of guns. Someday it will happen perhaps.” He sat down on the cot beside her. “I can’t give you my promise, Lara.”

  Dear heaven, he was hard as nails. Yet his expression in this moment wasn’t hard at all. He only looked sad and discouraged and weary, and she felt an infinitesimal softening toward him. But she mustn’t soften, she told herself desperately. She had to convince him to give her his word. “Then I’ll just have to keep at you until you do.”

  The weariness in his expression vanished as he smiled at her. “I’ve never known a woman to go to these lengths to accomplish what she wanted. Are you always this determined?”

  She nodded briskly. “You don’t get anywhere unless you set a goal and stick to it.”

  “You’ve found that out through long years of labor and experimentation, no doubt. How old are you, Lara?”

  She was annoyed by his indulgent tone. “Older than I look. People always think I’m younger because I’m small.”

  “How old?”

  “Twenty-one.”

  Ricardo swore softly under his breath. “And Paco sent you here?”

  “Brett is my twin and you had no compunction about accepting him into your damned army. Why should Renalto quibble about using me?”

  “In the military, you have a chance. The Abbey is different.”

  She swallowed, her annoyance banished by the panic that flooded through her. “Renalto thinks we have a chance to escape.”

  “Maybe.” His gaze searched her face. “Why the hell didn’t someone stop you? Don’t you have any family?”

  She shook her head. “My parents were divorced, and my mother died when we were twelve. My father couldn’t be bothered with children and took off for parts unknown right after the funeral. Brett and I spent the next four years in foster homes.” She shrugged. “What difference does my background make? I would have come anyway. Don’t women have the right to choose, too, in your brave new world?”